Together On The Field - l.s

four

The sky has taken to mirror Harry's mood. After days of rain the sun finally came out. It's odd, being January and all, to see a sun like that shine bright in the sky. It feels almost warm, even if the grounds are covered by a mantle of snow and—okay, it's actually freezing.

Maybe it is just Harry who feels kind of warm inside, because he likes to think that the sun has to mean something good, that it has to have a positive influence on this day. Like Louis suggested, he'll take it as a sign. He's found out that thinking like this is indeed a lot better than always feeling sorry for himself, so he'll just go with that.

It's the day of his first practice on the football ground after the injury and he's not nervous. Not at all. Okay, maybe a tiny bit. But it would be strange if he wasn't, right?

When he opens the door of the locker room, he hears people greeting him gleefully. He can't see anything, though, because Zayn is suddenly wrapped all over him, hugging him tight.

"Welcome back, tosser," he whispers in his ear, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"Dunno if I'm proper back but we'll figure out soon, I guess," says Harry cautious and adamant, even though his lips are curled into a smile.

"Oh my God Harry, stop that! Let yourself be happy for once, will you?" Zayn gives him a punch in the shoulder, which makes him whimper. Then he points at Harry's seat on the bench, under his jersey number (number four), where there is a medium-size box with a big red ribbon on the lid.

"For me?" asks Harry surprised, getting closer to inspect it. "From you?"

"Eh, no," admits Zayn awkwardly, scratching his neck. "It was already here when I arrived to be honest. I hav—did you expect something? I mean, I figured we would go out tonight to celebrate, but I didn't think of—" he hesitates.

"Shut up, Zayn. It's fine. But I don't get it? Who's this from, then?" Harry takes the box and opens it, widening his eyes at its contents. Inside there is a pair of brand new football boots, gray and turquoise, together with a brief note.

I wanted to give you mine, but I realised they would never fit you. These should do, though. They're identical to the ones I used during my very first practice with the first team. Figured you'd appreciate. Good luck, Harry.

It'll be okay.

Harry is stuck silent for a moment, just looking at the curled handwriting and feeling breathless. He takes the boots in his hands, admiring every perfect small detail, his initials embroidered across the side, the neat turquoise seams, the sharp pristine studs.

"Oh my God Harry, are those the new Magistas?" asks Zayn in disbelief, eyeing them without daring to touch, afraid he'll ruin them. "Do you know how fucking expensive these are? But who...?" he questions tentatively.

"Louis," says Harry promptly with a husky voice. He pulls the boots to his heart and looks at them adoringly, unable to take his eyes off those precious objects.

"Tomlinson?" exhales Zayn bewildered, staring at Harry, who is taking off his own boots to try on the new ones. "Bloody hell Haz, what on earth did you tell him the other day?"

Harry keeps shaking his head incredulously as he ties the shoelaces, lips pursed in a bright smirk that doesn't want to fade away. He stands on his feet then, more enthusiastic than ever, fuelled with new excitement and confidence.

"I'm ready," he declares, eyes almost sparkling.

Ed is waiting for him on the training ground. Harry joins him eagerly, beaming hard. He brushes the Manchester United logo stamped on his chest just under the heart and takes a breath. He can do this.